Trust Me
by helloitskrisha
Summary: Being vulnerable is difficult, but, perhaps—just perhaps—Erik can take a chance. (Prize phiclet for the wonderfully talented artist Klaus Scrimshaw; set in her "A Ghost on the Roof" universe)


**A/N: This fic is the prize phiclet for the amazing and talented artist, Klaus Scrimshaw, who won the "Erik Meets Erik" art contest on Discord. It's basically a text interpretation of a scene from her webcomic "A Ghost on the Roof." Please do check it out, and look out for all of her other works on Tumblr as well!**

**All credit for this scene, these characters, and this AU go to klausscrimshaw. (Seriously, read the comic, people! :D) Hope you like it!**

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"Are you sure about this?"

His tone was steady and calm as he spoke, but the look in his eyes held all the fear and hesitation in the world.

Christine held her breath. She didn't want to force him to do something that he was uncomfortable with. Not after everything they've been through, everything they've shared.

Their lessons on the rooftop have quickly become the best parts of her day. After her father died, a part of her thought that her love for singing had died with him. Meeting Erik brought that passion for music back into her life.

It's strange how they already knew so much about each other and yet she's never even seen his face. But here, now, as they sat face-to-face inside the dome of the Palais Garnier, she knew she was ready for this next step.

She nodded slightly. "…and you?"

Turning his gaze away from her, he replied, "I just want this to be settled at last."

It stung to see him this way. He's usually so tall and imposing, graceful even in his most awkward moments. But, at this moment, with his hunched shoulders and cautious expression, he looked every bit like a child waiting to be reprimanded.

She bit her lip, gathering her courage before looking him straight in the eye. "I know you're afraid, but you shouldn't be."

Leaning forward, she tried to place her hand on his. But he quickly moved it away, startled.

"I won't run away. I thought I made that clear," she said, hoping the conviction of her tone would be enough to make him feel at ease.

He could not meet her eyes, choosing instead to look at the long white sleeve that covered his skeletal arm, masked his pale flesh. "People usually tend to run away when they are afraid. You will be _horrified_."

This was something he knew from experience, she could tell. But she did not let this corrode her determination. She placed her hand on his shoulder, "Erik, there are some things you need to understand…"

Though she did not have her spectacles on, she could somehow see his flustered expression clearly. She drew back slightly, hoping she wasn't blushing as furiously as she imagined. "I'm only human, and if I believe what you told me about your face, you are right. I will probably be scared."

She remembered how he had described his face to her. Like a living corpse. Could it truly look as bad as he said? Well, she supposed he wouldn't have had to steal a prop mask from the costume department if he didn't need to cover his face…

Pushing these thoughts away from her mind, she continued speaking, "But what you can't seem to fathom is that I have come to know you as an absolutely incredible person."

And it was true. In the short while she had known him, they had already grown so close and she cherished every bit of information she learned about him. She loves his intelligence and his kindness and his resourcefulness. She loves how he trusts her enough to borrow his headphones (he keeps buying new ones anyway) and how he types up little notes for her (because his handwriting is terrible). And she loves… well, _him_…

Her cheeks turned as pink as her sweater. "My, _hem_, feelings won't simply… well, vanish."

He stared at her as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. She smiled at him—the gentlest smile she could manage. "My point is, please don't say anything at first. Do not take whatever expression you'll see on my face to heart. Once I process what I see, it won't matter or affect how I feel about you."

There was silence. Erik seemed to be processing what she had just said, looking everywhere except at her. She did not attempt to break the silence, to force him to make a decision immediately. Though she could not quell her anxious thoughts, she knew that she had to let him think about her words.

He placed his arms around himself, as though he were shielding himself from something, as though he were reliving an unpleasant memory.

"They all thought that they could…" he weakly muttered.

Christine wondered how often he had been hurt by others' judging eyes; it sent a sharp pain to her heart. She wished that she could reassure him that she wouldn't be like the others, that she wouldn't be afraid of what lay behind the mask. But a part of her knew that she couldn't promise him that. "Please! I am no angel, nor a saint, nor on any pedestal you always want to put me on… I am just human."

She looked up at him, smiling sweetly, her blue eyes whispering a silent promise. "Trust me?"

The look in his eyes was indecipherable. Tender, reverent, loving. A shaky hand reached toward her, as if to touch her cheek, but he stopped before it made contact with her skin.

"I trust you."

Gently, tentatively, he reached for the edges of his white mask.

Christine's eyes widened.

His description of his face was apt. Much like a corpse, his flesh was paper-thin, greying, sallow. His prominent cheekbones accentuated the hard edges of his face, making him look even more like a skull with skin. But the worst of it all was the large crevasse where his nose should have been.

Erik had kept his eyes closed as he lifted the mask off. But now, as his strange yellow eyes fluttered open and he saw her unambiguously shocked expression, he tried to cover his face.

"Disaster," he whispered, "…and you don't even have your glasses on…"

In his mind, he considered getting up and leaving. But the sound of her voice made him freeze.

"Wait," she said as she reached for his mask. She put her spectacles on, looked him straight in the eye, and slowly handed it back to him. "I won't lie. It's awful."

He turned his gaze away but she moved closer to him, placing one arm around his thin waist and the other over his shoulder. "Still, thank you," she pulled him into a hug, "it was very brave of you."

And with her touch, his fears slowly faded away. His face was still frozen in surprise but she felt his body relaxing into her embrace. She meant everything she had said. His face, though it did startle her to see it, did not matter. What she felt for him—the whole of him—was more important.

Once they have both calmed down, she smiled. "I'm proud of you. You didn't even run away when you thought you messed up."

"Yeah… I thought it was best to stay in case you fainted."

She crinkled her nose. "Why would I do that? Besides, your face is not even _that bad_."

"You're lying." He gave her a look of faux seriousness but she could see the good humor in his eyes.

She laughed.

"Yes."


End file.
